


It Could Be Worse

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Anal Sex, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Ceremonial Sex, Embarassed Uther, Exhibitionism, M/M, Nipple Play, Prince Merlin (Merlin), Public Sex, Top Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Virgin Merlin (Merlin), Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 01:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17909831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When the time comes for Arthur to consummate his marriage with Prince Merlin of Essetir, tradition asks for him to stake his claim in front of their fathers and the court. They both end up enjoying themselves much more than anyone expected...





	It Could Be Worse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fifty_fifty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fifty_fifty/gifts).



> I'm so terribly late with this fest. IRL had an unfortunate way of getting in my way, last few weeks...
> 
> For my good friend fifty <3

“You should, erm, take off your clothes,” Arthur offers unnecessarily, earning himself a thinly-concealed glare. The prince—no, _Mer_ lin—opens his mouth, probably another cheeky retort on the tip of his tongue, but then he restrains himself. Arthur has been bearing the brunt of his smartness for the better part of the evening, his new husband seated to his left during the feast, prattling on like a young and chipper mountain spring, and even before that, at the ceremony sealing their union, a stubborn sparkle was dancing in his eyes as he avowed, ‘I shall honor and be faithful to my husband, and aide him against all those who wish him harm’. They have known each other only for one day, and already Arthur knows he’ll have his hands full with this one.

He gives his husband a once-over, lingering on full, bow-shaped lips, his long, pale neck, and the slim, feather-sharp curve of his body. ‘It could definitely be worse,’ he thinks. His father could have betrothed him to an ugly troll, or maybe some vapid princess, one of the likes who does nothing but brush her hair all day. Or, gods beware, Morgana. Arthur shakes his head. Last he thinks he wants is to think of his half-sister on his wedding night.

“Arthur,” he almost jumps at his father’s voice, reprimanding the both of them from behind.

‘Damn,’ he thinks. He forgot about _them_. Clenching his hands to fists, he notices Merlin’s ears taking on a pretty red flush, and he is painfully aware of his father’s gaze, of King Balinor’s, and of the courtiers, piercing at the back of his neck. It is only supposed to be a short, ceremonial union—in and out and be done with—but the thought of their audience still has his stomach flip-flop in unusual ways.

“Are you going to get on with it, _Lord Husband_?” Merlin asks in a challenging voice, daring, provoking. Arthur almost falls for it, but Merlin’s eyes betray him, the way he stands before him with his hands wrung tight across his chest and into his collar. Defensive. Suddenly, Arthur is all too aware of the few years that separate them. In this light, with his eyes blown wide like a deer and his thin shoulders drawn upward beneath the cloak, Merlin looks painfully young. A fierce protectiveness wells up in Arthur’s chest.

He takes a step closer, and it doesn’t escape his notice how Merlin’s face tightens minutely. He raises his hands in his best attempt to appear non-threatening, and keeps hold of Merlin’s eyes, deeply blue and golden at the same time. He tries to convey all that he cannot say in front of their fathers, the crowd of spectators.

Merlin meets his gaze, mesmerized. He doesn’t notice until it’s too late when Arthur steps into his personal space and curls his fingers around the smooth, bony nape of his neck.

“Ah.” Merlin’s shoulders hunch in his grasp, and his hands fly up to Arthur’s chest, quivering slightly. But he doesn’t resist. “Relax,” Arthur murmurs against the lobe of his ear. “Look only at me. Pretend we are alone. Have you done this before?”

He already knows the answer even when Merlin starts babbling, “I-uh, of... of course I have. I’m not—” Arthur only shakes his head, a soothing hand trailing up to thumb over Merlin’s lip.

“I’ll be careful. Just let yourself fall, and let me take care of the rest.”

Merlin’s lips form a pretty ‘o’-shape when Arthur’s hands settle on either of his shoulders. Arthur curls his fingers into the fabric, feels the intricate weaving of it, the fine bones of Merlin’s shoulder blades beneath his fingers. Merlin doesn’t resist when Arthur pushes him backward with a gentle shove, and like a wet sack he drops onto the sheets. He sprawls out beautifully, pale as snow in between folds of the finest silk, and with ink-dark curls framing his flushed face. Merlin looks up at Arthur, half in expectance, half in trepidation. “Do you—” Arthur doesn’t let him finish his question before he crawls over him, caging his face between his elbows, and claims those lips with a kiss like he’d been waiting to all night long.

Merlin gasps into the kiss, lost for a few moments, before he curls his fingers into Arthur’s shirt and pulls him closer. His mouth is soft and cushiony against Arthur’s tongue. Arthur moves one of his arms downward, popping open the buttons of Merlin’s robe to tweak at a rosy nipple, to which Merlin gives a small whine. His head rears up slightly, which makes their teeth knock together.

From the crowd of spectators, Arthur hears a few curious mutters, but he ignores them. He draws back to wipe his mouth on his sleeve. “Liked that, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t wait around for Merlin to answer, and instead moves his mouth further down, nibbling at a sharp, pale collar bone. Merlin’s skin flutters prettily beneath him as he works it with his teeth, and when he lets up again, it is marked in a rosy red color. Two sets of hands wrap around his shoulders. “I... I suppose I could get used to it.”

Arthur smirks, takes his time to continue exploring his bridegroom’s body, soft and yielding and yet sharp and sinuous all at once. He dips his tongue in every hollow and crevice, the small dimple next to Merlin’s shoulders, his belly button, the narrow wings of his hip-bones, and delights in the small sounds Merlin tries his best to keep escaping from his lips. With his mouth, he wraps around one of Merlin’s nipples, and a high keen is his reward. Every so often, Merlin’s eyes dart to the side of the chamber, beyond the bedpost, where the lords and both their fathers are seated.

“Please,” says Merlin, quietly, and then quickly shuts his lips again.

Slowly, Arthur’s hand wanders to the heavy, ornate waistband which hold up Merlin’s ceremonial robes. He opens the buckle, pushing away the last of the fabric separating him from his prize, and reveals Merlin’s pretty, hardened cock, already leaking pre-cum.

He wraps his hand around it and leans forward, swallows the embarrassed, strangled noise that leaves Merlin’s lips with another kiss. Gently, teasingly, he cups Merlin’s balls, thumbs the slit of his foreskin, wipes away a few clear droplets when more pre-cum spills from the swollen head. Merlin’s hips are twitching beneath him, still in an attempt to restrain himself.

“Shh. Relax,” Arthur tells him, quietly, and Merlin sends him another glare. “I am to _relax_ while you’re wanking me-ooh.” Arthur twists his hand, making Merlin trail off in a high keen. Arthur dutifully captures all of it, lets Merlin make all the sumptuous noises into his mouth, for him and only to savor. His fingers strip Merlin’s cock with practised ease, teasing and pulling in all the right places, until Merlin is a blubbering puddle beneath him and comes messily into his waiting hand. The lords in the audience titter in discomposure. Reluctantly, Arthur pulls himself away, a trail of spit connecting them, and smiles against Merlin’s mouth. “Knew that would shut you up.”

Merlin huffs, still trying to regain his breath. “You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to shut me up.” Arthur’s smile morphs into an open smirk. Never was he one to scorn a challenge.

“Alright then,” he offers, leaning backwards to access the table that was prepared for their ceremony, and grabs a brown bottle. He unstoppers it, pours some of the clear, light-colored liquid—a herbal oil—onto his fingers. “Part your legs, and hold them up by your knees,” he tell Merlin, leaning back over.

Merlin swallows heavily, but complies. His legs are trembling when he pushes them up with his hand, revealing his small, pink hole. Exquisite. For a moment, Arthur takes his time to relish the sight, one that is for himself and himself alone. In his back, he hears a rustle, and an awkward clearing of a throat. He pays it no mind. Merlin shifts nervously in his position, tries to do a side-glance at their audience. “No. Look at me,” says Arthur, grasping his chin and turning his face.

Merlin looks, oh, he looks, face flushed and sweaty with exertion, dark curls sticking to his face and pupils so wide they are almost black. His lips are parted and bruised from kissing. He looks positively debauched, innocence well-spoiled, and when Arthur’s oil-coated fingers circle the outer ring of his hole, the corner of his lips crack upwards in invitation. “Do it.”

Arthur groans. Almost forgotten his earlier promise of being gentle, he pushes in two fingers at once, scissoring the tight ring of muscle, and enjoys hearing Merlin’s shallow-breathed gasp, half in pain, half in surprised pleasure.

“That feels… I don’t know.”

Arthur twists his finger, finds that special spot he knows is buried somewhere deep inside him. Merlin cries out.

“Know now?” Arthur asks.

Through the haze of lust, pleasured shivers wracking his body, Merlin blinks. He has the gall to look thoughtful. “Oh…” he sighs, lowers his eyelids, and his lashes brush prettily against his cheekbones. Arthur feels a little weak in the knees at the sight of it. “N-not sure. You might have to do it again.”

Arthur licks his lips. “Might I?” He adds a third finger, twists and stretches and teases at that spot, until he has Merlin’s hips twitching, trying to fuck himself on Arthur’s hand. “O-oh, gods,” he whines.

“It’s a bit early to be calling onto the deities, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin shakes his head, doesn’t even bother giving another smart reply. Instead, he just wriggles his hips, draws up his mile-long legs and hooks them around Arthur’s shoulders. “Come on, _please_ fuck me already.”

“Alright! Alright.” Arthur palms his own by now rock-hard cock, and finally allows himself to pull it out of his breeches. “Who am I to deny my husband when he asks so nicely?”

He aligns his cock with Merlin’s waiting hole, still impossibly small and virginal against the thickness of his length. He grabs hold of one of Merlin’s thighs, and braces himself against the bedsheet with his other hand. Without further warning, he snaps his hips forward, and pushes into that tight, red heat.

Merlin makes a positively sinful noise that has one or several of the lords giving scandalised gasps. He’s not even aware of it at this point, probably, writhing helplessly against the unfamiliar pleasure of being filled. “More,” he cries, hooks his ankles tight behind the nape of Arthur’s neck. Arthur picks up the speed of his thrusts, fucks into him with reckless abandon, lets himself be drawn in entirely by the softness cushioning around him, and the pulsating heat at same time.

“M-more, I need more, Arthur. Fuck me until I can’t walk!” Merlin yells, making Arthur almost sputter with surprise and arousal. In between extatic mutters of the other courtiers, his father jumps. He’s barking something, his voice sharp and yet somehow unable to pervade the fog clouding Arthur’s mind. Merlin’s making little “uhn, uhn, uhn”, sounds, stretches his arms backwards to find hold within the sheets while his thighs and his narrow chest jiggle in accord with the slapping and squelching noise of sex. “Arthur! What is the meaning of this… indecency?” Finally the voice of his father cuts through the haze, and Arthur flinches, falters in his motions for a moment. Sudden awareness slams into him, and he turns his head to find Merlin’s eyes glazed over, with his face red and scrunched up in a more than unbecoming way.

Merlin holds his gaze, and there’s knowledge in it, and then he throws his head back and from his lips escapes the lowest, filthiest, most sensual moan. There are several embarrassed groans in the crowd of their spectators, and Arthur’s father looks at them in enraged disbelief. He turns on the spot, marching out of the chamber with angry steps. King Balinor regards both of them with an unreadable expression, but remains silent.

Merlin’s mouth is wide open, drooling onto the pillow. “Yes, yes!” He enjoys this, Arthur realizes, enjoys being fucked in front of both their fathers, the court, all of them watching him being speared on a good, thick cock, yet none permitted to touch. That right is Arthur’s and Arthur’s alone. Never before has he felt this powerful.

Arthur brushes a hand over Merlin’s chest again, tweaks his nipple until he twitches, and then at last wraps a hand around Merlin’s cock, neglected and angrily erect against his belly. He pumps at the length with quick motions, until Merlin comes with a shout. Merlin clenches around Arthur, making his eyes whiten out for a second. With one final thrust, he pumps his come into Merlin, thrusting shallowly and filling his well-fucked hole.

He takes his time to gather his breath, and then slowly pulls out his spent cock. He looks his husband over. The sight of him is delicious, spread out in all his royal jewelry and fine silk befitting of one of his station, and yet at the same time so filthy, debauched, his stomach covered in come, his hole leaking from the abuse, and lips as read as those of a tavern whore. And the _look_ he pins Arthur with, as if he’s the only thing that exists in Merlin’s world right now, it has something possessive curl low in his stomach.

“Guess you didn’t manage to shut me up, in the end,” says Merlin, and Arthur laughs in surprise, shakes his head and lets himself fall on top of his beautiful husband. “No, I guess I didn’t,” he sighs, and somehow doesn’t mind his failure in the slightest. He nuzzles Merlin’s neck, and Merlin lets him, curls his fingers against the sweaty hair at the back of his head.

They stay like this while they listen to the lords file out of the room, now that the ceremony is finished. Arthur watches them out of the corner of his eye, many of them looking uncomfortable and some even with a suspicious tent in their pants. King Balinor stands up last, and he looks like he wants to say something to them, but then considers otherwise. He shakes his head and walks out of the chamber, closing the door behind him.

Yes, it could be worse, Arthur thinks, turning his husband’s sex-dazed face towards himself, lets his lips ghost over the shell of his ear. “Another round?”

Merlin licks his lips, grins at him. “I’d thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
